Comfort
by padfoot's prose
Summary: Lily's pillow is a poor substitute for a comforting embrace.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Apparently I'm on a writing binge at the moment. Yay! So I'm feeling my way through my own personal grievances right now, and this was just way of talking about coping mechanisms, and sadness, and other people, and how sometimes you need them and sometimes you're fine to be left alone with your pain. I just hope it makes sense to everyone else.  
**

**Oh, and there may be a part 2. If I'm in the mood.**

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**Comfort**

_by padfoot_

...

Lily has a rule: if she is upset, it's her problem and it must stay in her own space.

Usually, that means she will choose a time when the other girls are unlikely to come by – dinner time is the best, but lunch works too – and pull the curtains shut around her bed, and let it out. She'll clutch her test paper with a bad mark, or a picture of the beloved pet that passed away and cry and cry until it's all out of her system, and she can bring herself to function normally again. And then her life will go on.

Maybe some people would think it's dispassionate, depressing, even. Maybe people would think that Lily's whole process reveals a lack of true emotion. Maybe, according to some people, not sharing feelings, not advertising your tragedies to the world is a bad thing.

For Lily, it's just how she copes.

For Lily, in times of pain and hurt, there is no better way for the world to be than completely, utterly, perfectly organised. There is no better way for her to mourn than in peace and isolation, until she's shed all her vulnerabilities and is ready to be the person she presents to the world.

Plus, of course, there is a purpose-built loophole in her one rule.

If someone were to come into Lily's space during the time she allots to be upset, then they're absolutely allowed to witness her grief. Provided they don't run screaming from the room at such an uncharacteristically intense show of emotion.

And that loophole is what keeps Lily curled up on her bed tonight, her stomach growling at the thought of missed dinner.

The crying has stopped for the most part, and the test paper with its large red marks is just a pile of ash on the floor. Lily is clutching her pillow to her chest, her whole body curved around it to hug it close and tight. Her eyes are squeezed shut, imagining the warmth of another body, someone who could be as silent and pliant as the pillow in her arms. That imaginary _someone_ who is a companion in all her pain, and who finally convinces her to get up and keep going when everything feels like too much.

"Uh, Lily?"

An imaginary someone who is really not meant to have the voice of James Potter.

"Are you in here?"

Lily hastily wipes her eyes, remembers that she can't be seen and stops. She hears the bed covers rustle at the movement and curses under her breath, trying to move her arm back onto the bed without making any more noise.

"Are you in bed?"

Potter's tone is certainly not non-judgemental, and Lily thinks it's really honestly quite rude of him to be here at all, let alone be here judging her for being here too.

"Okay, now I don't know if I'm talking to an empty room or not. Just to be sure, I'm gonna check behind your curtains." Lily can hear him moving closing, the sound of the dormitory door shutting behind him. "If you are there and you're naked or something, you'd better tell me now," Potter continues, his footsteps getting closer, "because it's not my fault if I see anything."

Tangled in her bedsheets and entirely at a loss of what to do, Lily opts for closing her eyes again, rolling over and hiking her sheets up over her shoulders. She'll pretend to be asleep. It'll be fine, and Potter will go away, and she can go back to wallowing in her pool of self-pity and failure.

"Have you been crying?"

Lily screams – actually, girlishly screams – and Potter jumps back from where he was peering through the curtains.

"Merlin! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Lily. I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry."

His tone turns soothing as he approaches again, this time sliding the curtains back properly and crouching down to be at eye-level with Lily who is still lying down, busying herself with pulling her blanket over her head.

"Go away," she mumbles, entirely aware of how childish this whole thing is thank you very much.

"You're upset," Potter replies, and it's not a question.

"I know," she hisses back, "So go away."

Potter chuckles, and she feels the weight of a hand settle near her head. He tugs at the blanket and for a second Lily holds it tight, not letting it move. But then Potter tugs harder and she knows who of the two of them will win this fight so she relents, watching as his face comes into view.

His expression is sympathetic, something that Lily hadn't know was possible until now. His eyebrows are drawn down, making his glasses lean dangerously far forward on his nose. Lily resists the urge to reach out and push them back into place.

"What?" she sniffs, petulant and not at all sorry about it.

"Am I allowed to ask what's wrong?"

"No."

"Okay."

Potter falls silent. His eyes move away from Lily's face, taking in the pile of tissues on her bedside table, the little pile of ashes on the floor. Still, he doesn't say a word, only shuffles around to seat himself more comfortably on the floor beside Lily's bed. Absently, he plays with the corner of a sheet that is hanging down, flicking at it.

Lily watches, puzzled, but slowly her confusion shifts to amusement. The way James is batting the sheet – it reminds her of a kitten playing with wool. A reluctant smile strays onto her lips, making the dried tears crackle on her cheeks. She wipes the feeling away with the blanket still clutched in one hand, and the movement makes Potter look up.

"Can I help?" he asks.

Lily shakes her head, and James nods, gaze falling back down to the corner of sheet.

He says to the floor, "Do you want me to go?"

It seems to take an age for him to look up to see Lily's reply. Another shake of her head.

"Okay," he nods, and looks back down.

Lily watches the way James' head dips, the way he shuffles his shoulders to make his back more comfortable against her bedside table. She wants to reach out to him, to feel the comfort of human touch that her pillow could never quite replicate, but realises with a start that she's never really been comforted by someone before. There are vague memories of her mother holding her when she was a child, but those are so old and so dim, she can barely recollect the feeling at all.

Maybe this is what comforting is. Maybe James sitting beside her, not touching, not talking, just being there, is the way comfort works for adults. It's silly to think that someone will always be around to hold her when she's sad. Maybe, right now, this can be enough.

"Thank you," Lily murmurs.

She can't see his face, but from the way his cheek curves up, she knows that James is smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here's part 2, and it turns out there will need to be a part 3 as well. I know the tone of this is a bit different, but I was trying to write with colours, and it was more fun than I expected. Part 3 will hopefully be up soonishly. Enjoy!**

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**Comfort (part 2)**

_by padfoot_

...

James doesn't know how long he stays there for, staring at the plain mahogany of Lily's bedside table. The setting sun throws long shafts of orange beams into the room, leaving diamonds of yellow spattered on the walls. As time goes on, the lights fades until it merely echoes of sunglow, then suddenly turns a dusky lavender colour before finally settling as plum-dark shadows: shattered beams of moonlight filtered through clouds.

And still James sits.

His arse is aching and cold against the dusty floorboards of the girls' dormitory floor. His head has slumped forward against his chest, spots of pain singing in his neck at the strange angle it's curved at. Behind him, on the bed, he suspects Lily has fallen asleep.

"Are you awake?" a voice asks, and James' head jerks up, his neck twitching painfully.

He realises, with a dull sort of surprise, that he was the one who had dozed off.

"James?" Lily's tone is more pressing and sharp, far from the gentle, breathy way she'd said 'Thank you'.

"Mmph," the sound escapes unexpectedly from James' mouth, and he lets himself yawn before managing to say, "Yeah... yep. M'awake." He yawns widely again, sitting up straighter and stretching his shoulders and back. Merlin, his neck is _sore_.

Behind him, the bed covers shuffle as Lily moves, and James turns around to see her sitting up, pushing out of the sheets she had wrapped herself in. Lily's face is still a bit splotchy and red, patches of scarlet sitting high on her cheeks and at the end of her nose. Her eyes are bright though – an alert, bright forest green – no longer swollen from crying. She holds herself comfortably too, now, surely. Whatever it was that had upset her so much, she has clearly recovered. Or decided to appear recovered, at least.

"I'm hungry," Lily announces, "Do you want to go down to dinner?"

James turns to pointedly look at the antique brass clock on the wall. Its little second hand's ticking seems amplified by their attention. Dinner time has long since passed, and James is secretly grateful that by some miracle no one has entered the dormitory yet.

"Right," Lily says. "Well I guess I'll just have to starve then."

James chuckles. No one has ever claimed that Lily wasn't a fan of melodramatics, but the statement is still a rare treat to hear from her. She usually doesn't let herself slip up in front of him and say anything too selfish or, you know, human. Probably because she thinks it would give him some sort of ammunition for their arguments.

"You're right," James replies, "Those thrice-a-day banquets just don't provide enough sustenance for us growing girls and boys. Miss one you're dead, starved."

"Don't be a prat, Potter," Lily advises, and makes a point of bumping into him hard as she swings her legs off the bed and stands up.

He follows her lead, groaning at the ache in his neck but refusing to complain about it to her. She'd probably just tell him to harden up, don't be stupid, you didn't have to stay here, Potter, could've left anytime you bloody...

So he doesn't say anything, just rubs the back of his neck and follows the swish of her chestnut hair out of the dormitory and downstairs into the Common Room.

Everything glows with copper-gold light, the space feeling large but cosy as the cold evening air presses against the windows. There are little groups of people gathered on armchairs and rugs, most hunched over their homework, finishing off final assignments and essays before exam time comes. Lily waves to a group of fifth years, who beckon her over. For a moment James thinks she's just going to leave and he'll be standing in the middle of the Common Room like an idiot, but Lily simply shakes her head at the girls and continues towards the portrait hole. She waits there for James to catch up, and silently they duck through it together.

"Where to now?" Lily asks, and James jumps a bit at being directly addressed. He'd thought he was just meant to follow her.

"Um," he pauses, looks down the staircases, left and right, "The kitchens. You're still hungry, right?"

Lily smiles, but it looks a little tired and fades quickly, "Right," she agrees.

They turn left and walk on in silence.

James is a step or two ahead of Lily, leading the way with a humble confidence that he hopes she takes note of. The castle is quiet at this time – just after dinner but before it's properly night and they have to be in bed. Midnight blue, the sky outside seems to suck all the heat and light out of the corridors. The burnt orange glow from the lanterns along the walls does little to counter it.

Beside him, James feels Lily shiver, but she doesn't say anything in complaint. Aware that she'll never know how far his consideration for her stretches, James bypasses a shortcut that leads down an outer wall of the castle and instead heads for warmer corridors.

As they near the kitchens, people start crossing their paths, a group of Hufflepuffs coming back from the library, clutching armfuls of books and talking softly among themselves. They all smile hellos and Lily and James smile back. James likes that they don't question his and Lily's presence.

"See you on the Quidditch field, Potter!" one of the Hufflepuffs calls as a farewell, and James raises his hand in acknowledgement.

"That's Audrey," he tells Lily, mostly to fill in the silence, "Miles Audrey. Hufflepuff Seeker. Best player on their team, easy. Everyone thought he'd be in Ravenclaw with his brothers, but then the Hat picked Hufflepuff and he was ecstatic about it. He's the reason Ravenclaw's come last in Quidditch for the past two years. They were counting on him to fix their team up."

"Oh," Lily replies, and James wishes she'd say something more.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, you know," he says, and Lily shoots him a questioning look. "About how you were upset. It's nobody's business, and whatever argument we have tomorrow or the next day or the next month or the next year, I'm not going to tease you about crying every so often."

Lily's eyebrows contract into a frown, and instantly James senses that he's done something wrong. He really should've just stayed silent.

"I don't cry _every so often_, Potter," Lily shoots back, bristling, "I cry when genuinely bad things happen and I am genuinely upset by them."

"I know that, Lily, I didn't mean-"

"And it's not as if I _invited_ you to come and watch me cry. Merlin, Potter, you came _barging_ in to my dormitory during dinner time! I wasn't exactly putting myself in your path, begging you to come cheer me up!"

"I wasn't trying to cheer you up, I was just-"

"And if you _dare_ give me some sort of _punishment_ for bothering to trust you with something as stupid as me being upset – because you know what, Potter? everyone cries sometimes, it's only bloody human of me! – then you have got another thing coming because I swear I will curse your arse all the way back to-"

"We're here," James mutters miserably, resigned to his fate, and Lily stops short, staring at the portrait in front of them.

Reaching out a hand, James tickles the pear in its bowl of fruit, its giggling catching and echoing in the silence between him and Lily. It seems to take an age for the kitchen door to swings open.

"I was just trying to be nice," James says, more than a little sulkily, "Sorry. I won't do it again."

And he walks into the kitchen, hearing, but refusing to look back, as Lily follows him.


End file.
